Back in the early 90s, I was hunting one of the less-than-coveted zones at the Todd Farm Unit of the Allegan State Game Area near Fennville, Michigan with two other hunters I’d known from hunting there over the years. We had taken the zone on purpose because we had all scouted and noticed that the birds were feeding in that field and those nearby due to the recent harvesting of the corn. Our stand was in the edge of a corn field on the edge of a ditch.

About mid-morning, a flock of geese was making its way to our area when it flew over the next blind over, which was about 300 - 400 yards away on the other side of the ditch. The birds were a good 70 yards up when the hunters in that blind opened fire on them. They killed no birds. In fact, it seemed like the birds didn't even notice them.

As we watched, the geese swung toward us and flew directly over our heads at maybe 40 yards. I shot and winged one that sailed a good 300 yards to our left and landed on the wrong side of the ditch.

My experiences at the refuge were good ones, for the most part. The vast majority of hunters that I hunted next to were sportsmen and very considerate. In spite of the many horror stories I’d heard about other hunters trying claim birds they didn’t shoot, it had been my good fortune to run across hunters that would pick up a bird I’d shot that landed in their zone and walk it up to me. I followed that simple rule of courtesy myself as it only made for more enjoyable hunts all around.

The goose I shot was laying dead in the field across the creek. It wasn’t flopping, flapping or doing any moving of any kind. The hunters in the other blind were making their way to it. I walked calmly down the creek bank knowing that they were going to toss my bird across the ditch to me.

They got to the bird and one of them picked it up and, carrying it by the neck, turned and headed back to their blind. This quite naturally raised a protest from me to which they replied that they had shot that bird when it passed their blind. At this point, I questioned not only his accuracy, but his IQ and family history as well. I was becoming disturbed.

To make a long story not quite as long, he finally said (paraphrasing), "Then come and get your fat-and-happy goose!!" (you can use your imagination for what he really said). With that pleasant phrase (remember, he was holding the dead goose by the neck), he swung the bird up over his head and slammed it to the ground as hard as he could.

In all my years of hunting, I’ve seen some pretty bizarre things. I’ve seen birds in the decoys at 25 yards escape four hunters and 12 shots completely unscathed. I’ve seen birds get hit with no less than three shots, feathers exploding like a pillow in a blender and the almost denuded bird would fly away no worse for wear but looking something like a rotisserie chicken on the wing. I’ve seen geese laying dead in the blind get up and walk away, never to be found. But I had never seen, and have never since seen, what I saw this day.

The impolite hunter body-slammed the obviously dead goose. It bounced off the ground, it’s wings shot out from it’s side and it flew merrily back to the refuge. Having my gun with me, I alertly took a shot at the escaping miracle goose and missed.

Looking back on it, I had no chance in the world of hitting that bird. No doubt it wasn’t meant to be a feast for humans. Of course, my jaw being on the ground may have effected my aim. As I watched the goose making its way to safety, I told my antagonist that I'd be a nice guy and if he needed the goose that bad, he could go get it.

May God strike me dead now if this isn’t the truth. Ask Dave Carmody or Monte Moncrief next time you see them.

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